


Over Hill and Dale on a Winter's Night

by slashedsilver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Huddling For Warmth, Humor, M/M, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashedsilver/pseuds/slashedsilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry, Draco and a cabin in the snow. Yes, it's exactly what you're thinking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Hill and Dale on a Winter's Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [who_la_hoop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/who_la_hoop/gifts).



> Thanks, dracogotgame, for the superquick beta! You're wonderful. 
> 
> Dear who_la_hoop, this ended up wanting to become so much longer than I could manage within the time. I hope you enjoy this little gift!

Harry stabbed at the fire sulkily with his wand. Or, to be exact, what was left of his wand, after their minor accident. If he were to be really exact, it wasn't much of a fire, either. More like a meagre flame he'd managed to coax out from the splintered pieces of his wand.

He lifted a soggy sweater sleeve towards the fire, but sighed when he realised that the tiny flame simply wasn't able to do his wet clothes any favours. The wooden floors of the hut they'd stumbled into weren't enough to keep out the chill, and his knees were beginning to ache from squatting beside the fire. In fact, Harry thought, despite its proximity to the Forbidden Forest, the hut didn't seem entirely wizard, lacking certain provisions like a set of functioning wards, weatherproof building materials, wizard space...

And a basic self-stocking fireplace for emergencies like these.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him as Harry continued to prod at the fire, causing sparks to lift and rise. "Do try to contain your enthusiasm, Potter. This hut wouldn't be of much use to us if it burned down. With us inside."

"At least we'd be warm," Harry groused. He lifted a foot clad in a sodden sock for clearer illustration. "My foot doesn't agree with this sort of temperatures."

"I told you to hang those out to dry. See?" Malfoy waved a dramatic hand that indicated his slightly tousled blond hair, his lithe body stretched out on the rug, and his bare feet, which looked unfairly dry. "I'm all toasty." 

Harry cursed the eagerness with which his eyes followed the path drawn by Malfoy's hand, lingering in a particularly satisfied fashion on Malfoy's form. Without his socks and shoes, and clad only in a grey sweater and long trousers, Malfoy looked unusually soft and vulnerable, though Harry would die before he admitted that.

"I'm not such a fan of exhibitionism," Harry managed to say. Though perhaps Malfoy was right, and he should at least get out of his wet robes...

"Potter, you pervert!" Malfoy exclaimed, in mock outrage. "I'm not anywhere near naked yet."

Harry almost swallowed his tongue, and tripped over the part of the robes he'd already shrugged off. He wound up in an ungainly tumble on the floor, regarding the ceiling with some resignation. It had only been three months since the enforced Contego Charm had been placed on both of them, and being in the same room as Malfoy had never been more torturous.

"Goodness, Potter, do you even need help getting out of your robes?" Harry turned his head in Malfoy's direction, and was horrified to see him beginning to clamber off the rug, apparently taking it upon himself to provide that help.

"No! I'm fine!" Harry yelped, and with an impressive surge of energy, he struggled out of the last of his clinging robes. He stood, panting and somewhat flushed, holding them up at Malfoy in triumph. "See?"

"Very well indeed," Malfoy muttered, looking inexplicably grumpy. Then he brightened. "What about the rest of your clothes?"

"I'm very happy where they are, thanks," Harry said, laying protective hands over his body. Well, he wasn't; he was still somewhat cold, but at least they were out of the biting wind.

Thinking back, Harry had to concede they'd been unusually lucky to find this abandoned hut, after Harry's rather spectacular swerve off the road into a snowdrift. And he had been lucky that Malfoy hadn't complained... much.

He took another glance at Malfoy, who was leaning back on some pillows on the rug, having appropriated them from the bed. Malfoy looked for all intents and purposes like he was back in the Eighth Years' common room, with roaring heat coming from the fireplace. All that was missing was a book in his hand, and Harry trying to keep within fifty metres of him. There was no need to constantly look out for that now—Harry doubted the hut was even half as large as their common room, which kept them in the necessary proximity to keep the Contego charm quiet.

He flung himself on the rug next to Malfoy, and was thankful to find it much warmer than the floor. _Not for long, though,_ he thought, as he felt the water from his clothes starting to seep into the rug under him. Whereas the spot under Malfoy remained disturbingly dry.

"You look very comfortable," Harry said suspiciously, because he could never learn to let sleeping dogs lie. "Are you sure you didn't plan this from the start?"

"Which part, exactly?" Malfoy demanded. "Offering to help Hagrid hunt for Blistering Plimplies? Dragging _me_ along because of the bond? Driving us off the road and into a _snow drift_ because you thought you saw something? Which part, again?" Malfoy huffed, and Harry was appalled to realise that he found it cute. "Just because I know how to weatherproof my clothes doesn't mean I planned everything in advance, Potter."

"Well—" Harry said, floundering as he tried to decide which part to focus on first. Most definitely not Malfoy's scrunched up nose—then something struck Harry. "And don't exaggerate! The bond isn't _that_ powerful." 

Malfoy smirked. Harry realised what he'd said and backpedaled immediately. "And for the thousandth time, Malfoy, it's not a bond!"

"A permanent monitoring spell, then."

"It's a protection charm. And you know it's just a precaution—"

"A safety precaution, in case I murder someone in my sleep," Malfoy muttered.

"A precaution in case someone murders _you_ in your sleep, too," Harry countered. "Or if someone attempts to murder you, anyway. The spell would be no good if you were already dead."

"No good to whom, I wonder?"

Harry gave him an exasperated shove.

"Ow! Injured man here!"

"What? You just had a bit of a fall when we swerved," Harry argued, though he studied Malfoy doubtfully.

"And _sprained my ankle_ , hero," Malfoy said with a glare, gesturing towards his bare foot, which, Harry just realised, was beginning to swell impressively. "And we don't even have a functional wand to heal it with."

The last part was muttered dispiritedly, as though it were Harry's fault that their wands were now little better than matchsticks. Though maybe it was. Harry was just thankful that they hadn't broken anything else.

He stared somewhat helplessly at Malfoy's turned back.

Three months with Malfoy and it still wasn't easy. When the Ministry had first approached him with the proposal, the month before their Eighth Year started again, Harry had been outraged to hear it. "Why does Draco Malfoy need to be subjected to this?" he had demanded. "He's been cleared of all charges during the trials after the war."

"Well yes," Percy Weasley, head assistant to the Minister's Office had coughed. "But you have to admit that he's got the potential to be somewhat dangerous if influenced by another Dark wizard again --"

"Another Dark Lord?" Harry had replied, sarcastically. "They sure are growing them by the dozen."

"In any case," Percy had continued doggedly, "that's what the Wizengamot has decided, and those are the conditions of Malfoy's return to Hogwarts for his Eighth Year."

Harry had made a last ditch attempt. "On one condition. I want the spell to be triggered to warn of murderous intent _towards_ him as well as away. He's not a dog we're watching. Then I'll agree to be his Holder."

One week in, and he had already started to regret it. 

Malfoy was one of the most infuriating people to live with. 

Malfoy would insist on waking up at six in the morning to begin his morning routine. Which would have been perfectly fine, if they hadn't been tied to each other with the invisible string. As a result, Harry was forced to give up his daily snooze-ins to play guardian for Malfoy outside the Eighth Year's shower rooms.

Malfoy ate his potatoes without peas, dessert between bites of his main course, tea without milk or sugar, and would fight Harry for the strawberry jam every morning. He would pay rapt attention in class, and prod Harry whenever he started to doze off. Harry quickly learned that no amount of glares discouraged him. Somehow, Malfoy respected the hallowed halls of education. Harry was surprised at the kind of things learned about Malfoy now that they were spending every waking moment side by side, or at least, within close proximity to the other.

The most infuriating thing was, after the first few weeks, Harry no longer found him infuriating. Instead, they'd reached a mutual understanding that was almost comfortable. Harry would scoop the peas off Malfoy's plate, and only bother to take as much sugar and cream for himself. He learned how to split the strawberry jam between them, and how to snooze in class with his eyes wide open. 

When Harry realised they were developing the ability to anticipate each other's responses, and worse, that he liked it, he knew he was truly in trouble. 

"So what's your plan to save us all, Potter?" Malfoy said now, wiggling the toes of his uninjured foot at Harry. "Surely you don't mean to keep us here overnight! Who knows what my devious plan to off the Saviour of the Wizarding World might be?"

 _Slowly killing me with your little pink toes,_ Harry thought, staring in a somewhat resigned fashion at Malfoy's toes, which were small and nicely shaped—at least, according to Harry's limited experience.

Out loud, he said, "Do you fancy walking back to Hogwarts in the dark with your foot like that? Because I certainly don't fancy carrying you and stumbling around in the dark, trying to find our way back." Well, that was a lie (the first part at least), but Malfoy didn't have to know that.

Malfoy blew out a miserable breath. "Of all the places we could have ended up. This lousy excuse for a hut doesn't even have basic facilities." Harry almost laughed at the despondent expression on Malfoy's face, but that was probably not the wisest thing to do.

"We have a bed here, and a fireplace—"

"A pathetic excuse for a fireplace, and, like you pointed out—one bed, singular—"

"—some blankets, pillows, cushions, and a rug. Not much in the way of food, but I'm surprised they kept a hut like this so well-stocked in the middle of nowhere."

"Don't make it sound so promising, Potter. Did you see the Hippogriff carcass hanging from the ceiling near the door?" Malfoy shuddered. "Maybe the owner is a rabid, wizard-eating type of creature and we've just helped it get dinner by walking in straight through the open door..."

"Which clearly hasn't been used in ages," Harry said, exasperated. "Or have you failed to notice the level of dust in this place?"

As if on cue, Harry sneezed, and then sneezed again. Unable to find an available dry spot on his clothes, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

Malfoy looked horrified. "Don't bring that anywhere near me. Stay on your side of the room."

"Don't worry, Malfoy," Harry said amiably. "I wouldn't dream of sullying you with my mucus-covered hand."

Malfoy studied him warily a moment longer, then seemed to relax when Harry didn't move from his spot.

A sudden bout of mischief overtook Harry, overwhelming and irresistible. Deliberately keeping his posture relaxed, he stood up, pretending that he needed to stretch. Then all of a sudden he stumbled into Malfoy, planting his hand onto Malfoy's jumper with a cry of triumph. 

Malfoy yelped and tried to scramble backwards, and Harry remembered just a moment too late that Malfoy had sprained his ankle, and perhaps it wasn't the best time to go crashing headlong into him. Regardless of how amusing it might have seemed at the time. The reprimanding voice in his head sounded remarkably like Mrs Weasley.

There was a moment of harsh panting as Harry carefully eased his eyes open, slightly apprehensive at what he might find. His gaze fixed on a lock of white-blond hair, untucked from its usual impeccably tidy position. Harry's arms were braced on either side of Malfoy's body, which was warm under his, comfortably soft though still somewhat damp from the melted snow—and trembling.

Harry pulled back, bracing himself for the tongue-lashing that he was about to receive, but the apology died on his tongue when he saw Malfoy's white face.

"M-Malfoy," he stammered. He was suddenly seized with a deathly fear that Malfoy would regard him with the kind of cold, distant expression he hadn't seen since Sixth Year. They'd finally progressed from stilted conversation to companionable jokes and laughter, and Harry somehow couldn't abide by the thought of going back to the old, withdrawn and careful, tight-lipped and overly polite Malfoy again.

Malfoy scowled at him instead, though his face was still pale. "Just for that, I'm going to take the bed."

"As though it was ever a point of dispute in the first place," Harry muttered, but he was relieved that the crisis was averted. 

Contrite, he turned his attention for the first time that night to Malfoy's injury. "Does your ankle hurt really badly? Let me see it."

"Ouch, Potter, you brute!"

"I'm not even touching it!"

"Are you sure you're trying to help me?" Malfoy demanded. "What do you know about sprained ankles, anyway?"

"That it probably isn't good for them to be out in the cold," Harry retorted, though inwardly he was racking his brains to remember what Aunt Petunia had done when Uncle Vernon sprained his ankle, tripping over a football Dursley had left lying around the house. Uncle Vernon had spent a week after that just lazing around the living room with his foot propped up on a stack of cushions, munching peanuts and watching the telly, as Aunt Petunia bustled about, bringing him ice at first and then hot compresses. If it was even possible, Harry believed that Uncle Vernon had put on weight after that entire experience.

Harry's gaze fell on the pillows on the bed, and he stood up abruptly. Just what they needed. "Come on," he announced. "Let's get you on the bed."

As though he had uttered some keyword, Malfoy's look of consternation instantly melted into an expression of sultry seduction.

"Why, Potter," he drawled, "aren't we moving a bit too fast?"

"Just get up," Harry muttered, pretending his face wasn't flaming red. Damn Malfoy and his suggestiveness, and damn his body for reacting to it.

"I should have known you would be just as bossy in bed as out of it," Malfoy teased. His voice was somewhat breathless.

Harry determinedly ignored Malfoy's ribbing as he reached over to heft him up. Unfortunately, he couldn't ignore the sensation of Malfoy's soft hair tickling his cheek and the slightly citrusy scent he'd started to associate with Malfoy. Wondering guiltily if Malfoy would notice, Harry took a deep breath and inhaled, pretending he was bracing himself to lift Malfoy.

"Ow! Be careful there!"

"Stop whining," Harry huffed out. Malfoy stilled as Harry's breath coasted warm over his ear. Harry was feeling somewhat light-headed himself. Thankful for the sudden silence, Harry slid an arm under Malfoy and hoisted him up. 

Half-staggering and half-hopping (on Malfoy's part), they struggled towards and finally landed on the bed. Malfoy's hair fanned out as he slumped backwards onto a pillow, thankfully one of Dame Dorkins' Dust-Be-Gone series, and Harry had to resist the urge to run his fingers through Malfoy's hair and see if it was as soft as it looked.

To distract himself, he announced, "I'm going to lift your ankle now."

Malfoy recoiled. "Do we need to?"

"I'm quite sure we need to elevate it," Harry said dryly. Softening at the fear in Malfoy's face, he promised, "I'll be gentle."

Malfoy's lack of comment was conspicuous, and it worried Harry a little, but he fluffed the pillows and helped Malfoy lean back on them in a half-sitting position, and concentrated on stacking some pillows near Malfoy's foot. When the time came to lift Malfoy's ankle, Harry approached cautiously, sliding a hand under Malfoy's trousered calf, and propping it up on the pillows.

"There," Harry announced, suppressing a slight shiver at the memory of Malfoy's leg, warm and firm under his hand. "We're all done now."

The pinched look left Malfoy's face after he realised it was over. It was rapidly replaced with a content, and somewhat sleepy expression. "That's good. Wasn't worried at all." Malfoy grabbed one of the free pillows and snuggled into it, eyes falling shut immediately.

Harry suppressed an answering smile. 

"Looks like it's bedtime for you," he teased. Malfoy mumbled something unintelligible in reply. Harry didn't need to cast a Tempus to know that it was probably already ten o'clock; it really just took living with Malfoy for a week or so to learn that he could be incredibly predictable about so many things. 

Watching Malfoy hug his pillows, Harry felt a sudden wave of tenderness wash over him. He freed the blankets from where they had been trapped under Malfoy's other foot, and spread them out over him, careful not to snag his injured foot. Harry tucked the covers over Malfoy, smoothing them out slightly longer than was strictly necessary. Even after rooming with him for a month, Harry to admit that there were times like these where Malfoy caught him off-guard. 

In sleep, Malfoy's expression relaxed. There was a barely perceptible tension that tightened his face when he was awake; Harry wouldn't even have realised it was there, had he not seen Malfoy when he was asleep. Asleep, Malfoy's eyelashes fanned fine and silver blond over his cheeks. His mouth, so often lifted in a smirk or smooth and sliding over vowels, lay soft and slightly open, the lower lip full and plush and tempting. He liked to sleep with his left hand placed near his face, the fingers long and slender, now curled into a weak fist, limp and delicate. Harry resisted the sudden urge to slide his hand to meet Malfoy's palm, feeling the fingers open around him. Malfoy's hand would be warm and dry.

When Harry caught himself smiling somewhat dopily at the thought, he shook himself in horror. Was he really thinking about _holding_ Malfoy's _hand?_

"Are you sure you don't want to squeeze with me on the bed?" came Malfoy's sleepy voice, almost scaring Harry to death. "There's plenty of room."

"No!" Harry blurted, backing away as images of squeezing with Malfoy appeared before his eyes. "I'm fine. Very fine. It's very comfortable on the rug." 

To prove his point, he grabbed a pillow and blanket and all but ran away from the bed. 

Long after Malfoy had started to snore peacefully, Harry was still trying to find a comfortable spot to sleep. He was shivering just very slightly, but he told himself it was nothing he couldn't handle. 

At some point, he finally dozed off, drifting into the strangest dream. In it, Malfoy was sitting on a Persian rug in a boat, wiggling his pink toes at Harry, who was trying his best to prevent the waves from washing out their only fire. However, the waves were very insistent, and kept trying to jump into their boat, despite Harry's valiant efforts to bat them out. Even though the sun was shining, the water was freezing cold, and there were little icebergs floating around them. Harry's fingers were beginning to grow numb from scooping out the stray waves, but now the boat was starting to shake, and he was holding on for dear life—where was Malfoy --

"Potter. Potter! Wake up!"

Harry groaned and tried to turn over to grab Malfoy to prevent him from falling off the boat, but there was no one there. Abruptly, he tried to wake up, but his eyelids were heavy and it was hard to open them. And there was someone shaking him frantically, and trying to get their arms under him, which was very uncomfortable, and Harry didn't like that at all. He squirmed, or tried to, and gave another displeased groan.

"Work with me, Potter. The floor's too cold for you—I should have known better—" 

The low-grade humming of the surveillance charm comforted him. Ah. It was Malfoy. And he felt nice, and smelt nice, as usual. All right, Harry thought agreeably. Let's get up. But his limbs felt all over the place, and didn't seem to want to cooperate.

With a muttered curse, Malfoy finally got Harry onto the bed, and Harry immediately burrowed, or tried to burrow, into the warmth still lingering on the bed. He was starting to realise that he was shaking, quite violently in fact. The next thing he realised was that Malfoy appeared to be in the process of undressing him.

 _No!_ he wanted to protest. _I'm not that kind of guy!_

But all he could get out was a weak grunt, and Malfoy continued to pant and paw at him, and he was getting colder and colder... And then, strangely enough, he wasn't. There was a warm body lying next to him. And it was hugging him.

Oh. This was nice.

Harry tried to snuggle more deeply into the embrace, but only managed to twitch his arms feebly before sleep claimed him again.

This time, though, his dreams were pleasant.

~*~

Halfway through the night, Harry was vaguely conscious of flopping an exuberant arm and leg over his new teddy bear, which hissed in pain for some reason.

"Malfoy?" he mumbled, his arms tightening around the warm body lying next to him.

There was a breathless laugh, and then a faint attempt to disentangle Harry's grip on the body. Harry merely snuffled absently and secured his hold.

"Potter. I can't sleep with you tangled around me like this."

"Oh," Harry said consideringly. Half-asleep, his brain made the only logical conclusion. "Here, lie on me instead." He tugged Malfoy until he was safely ensconced in Harry's arms.

"I don't think this is any much better," Malfoy's voice said dryly, from the vicinity of Harry's chest. Malfoy's breath may have hitched.

"Hmm?" Harry said, already beginning to drift back into sleep.

A sigh. "Go back to sleep, Potter."

"'Kay."

~*~

The next morning, Harry blinked bleary eyes to the sensation of something not unlike a giant hot water bottle plastered to his side. Strange. Where had they got one of those from? Had he magicked one in his sleep?

Then he realised his hot water bottle was breathing, was soft and somewhat squishy (except for that rather bony part which was sticking into his ribs), and was topped with a mop of white gold hair. It was really nice hair, Harry thought happily as he reached a hand to sift through the blond strands. This was exactly what Malfoy should do—lie on Harry and let him stroke his hair, instead of keep it so far away from Harry all the time...

His hot water bottle twitched. Then it opened a grey eye. "Potter," it said.

Harry yelped in fright and snatched his hand away, shocked into full wakefulness. 

"Merlin," Harry gasped, holding his hand to his rapidly pounding heart. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What do _you_ think you're doing, petting me like that?" Malfoy demanded archly, struggling out of Harry's clutches.

Harry sputtered, fighting to look for an excuse that was not willing to present itself. It had finally happened, he thought mournfully. He had been done in by Malfoy's stupid hair.

Then he realised something else. "Oh my God, Malfoy. Where are my clothes?" A sudden flood of memories returned to him—shivering on the floor, then being forcibly moved to the bed, and _stripped_...

He flung an accusing finger at Malfoy, who looked gobsmacked at the violent reaction. "You!" he gasped. "You tried to—to get fresh with me!"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him. It was a very nice eyebrow, he thought helplessly. 

"Honestly, Potter," Malfoy's pink mouth said. "Where do you get your turns of expression from?"

"Don't try to change the subject!" Harry snapped, wise to Malfoy's ways. "I knew you'd try something like this!"

"Something like... this?"

"Attacking me in the middle of the night!"

"By saving you from freezing to death?" Malfoy looked truly bemused, but Harry knew it was all an act. "Potter, where do you get your ideas from?"

 _From Mrs Weasley's paperback novels,_ Harry thought, but he would bring that secret to the grave. 

"Well?" he demanded instead. "What have you got to say for yourself?"

"Would you perhaps want to put on some clothes?"

Harry was about to launch into another tirade when he had a closer look at Malfoy. His pale cheeks were uncharacteristically flushed, and he was determinedly not looking into Harry's eyes. Was Malfoy feeling hot? Did he have a fever, and was refusing to let Harry know about it, the same way he'd failed to mention his busted ankle when they were stumbling around, looking for a place to take shelter for the night?

"Malfoy—" Harry began, tentatively approaching him, intending to place a hand on his forehead.

But all trace of Malfoy's former cavalier humour had left him, and he was scooting desperately backwards on the bed, clumsy in his haste. His ankle caught on a pillow, and he inhaled sharply, a pained noise. Harry froze at the sound.

"Don't come nearer!" Malfoy yelped. He snagged a pillow and brandished it threateningly in Harry's direction. When Malfoy realised he had to look at Harry to do that, he gave an agonised moan and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "For Merlin's sake, Harry, your bits are all hanging out!"

"And this disturbs you?" Harry asked, confused. Curiosity at Malfoy's uncharacteristically frantic behaviour was winning out over his natural instinct to be embarrassed. "Aren't you always joking about getting me undressed?"

"Joking being the operative word there."

For the first time, Harry realised that Malfoy's button-up shirt was gaping open, exposing a pale and temptingly lickable chest. Had he unbuttoned it in the night? It was really unfair that Malfoy had such interesting body parts, Harry thought, moving to study it more closely. It figured that he was too much of a prude to remove his shirt completely. Still, he looked nice, somewhat dishevelled, maybe, but that was nice too...

"Potter," Malfoy said in a strangled tone. "Are you _sniffing_ me?"

"Of course not!" Harry exclaimed, insulted. "I just wanted to check something."

"On my _chest?_ " And then he groaned, which could have had something to do with the fact that Harry had just stuck out his tongue and given Malfoy's chest a tentative lick.

Skin, warm and salty, and definitely not deserving of another lick, but there was something undefinable about the way Malfoy's body trembled under him that made Harry want to try it again. He chanced a glance up at Malfoy's face, which was pale and pinched, eyes still screwed tightly shut.

"Malfoy," Harry whispered. "Is this okay?"

Grey eyes flickered open, filled with uncertainty, hope—and desire. Harry felt his heart give a leap.

"Are you just going to lick me again?" Malfoy challenged. But the huskiness in his voice gave away his anticipation.

Emboldened, Harry came even closer. "I thought I'd try something else."

"What if I try something first?" Harry had barely enough time to register the mix of fear and determination on Malfoy's face, before a warm softness pressed against his lips, brief and hesitant. A thrill ran through Harry's body at the sensation, and he gasped in pleasant surprise.

Then he realised Malfoy was starting to pull away, a look of consternation in his eyes. This was very bad manners indeed, practically as terrible as dangling a treacle tart in front of someone and then telling them they couldn't eat it. So Harry thought he would teach Malfoy a lesson, and he chased Malfoy's lips, capturing them firmly under his again. Malfoy's lips were closed, until Harry swept his tongue along the seam of Malfoy's lips, and he finally parted them with a groan of surrender. Harry was very pleased, indeed.

Harry's hands traveled up to hold Malfoy's face tenderly, one hand tangling in the fine strands of blond hair. It felt nice against his fingers, and he made a happy sound. Malfoy gave a breathless laugh, or tried to, because Harry wasn't too keen about Malfoy stopping the kiss to laugh, or even to breathe. To make his thoughts on the matter known, he licked his way into Malfoy's mouth, which opened around him easily this time, pliant and yielding. A sound escaped from Malfoy's throat, and Harry took it as a victory to be able to coax such noises from Malfoy, usually so conscious of himself and so carefully put-together. He wondered if this was what it felt like to take someone apart, bit by bit, and be taken apart bit by bit at the same time.

It was heaven.

~*~

He didn't know how long later it was, but they lay on each other afterward, breaths beginning to slow. Malfoy's mouth was swollen red, and Harry thrilled at the knowledge that he'd been the one to make it so.

Malfoy's mouth was moving now, and there seemed to be words coming out of it. With an effort, Harry jerked himself away from the half-dozing state he'd slipped into, and forced himself to pay attention.

"...before it gets dark again."

"What?"

Malfoy gave him a look of fond exasperation. It was a good look on him, Harry thought contentedly. "I said, it's still daylight, and we should probably try to get back to Hogwarts before night falls again."

Harry blinked. 

Back to Hogwarts. 

There was a part of him that was reluctant to leave the little hut. But Malfoy was right. There was only so long they could go missing for without alarming the whole castle. And Malfoy's ankle needed seeing to.

They bandaged up Malfoy's ankle as best as they could, with strips of sheet that Harry hoped wouldn't be missed, and then Malfoy slung a skinny arm around Harry's shoulders, propping himself up against him. Harry steadied him with an arm around his torso, surprised how natural the gesture felt. 

"So, ready to hobble all the way back now?" Harry asked, shooting Malfoy a sideways glance. A slight shiver ran through his body as he realised how close they were. 

"As ready as I'll ever be."

And as they took their first shaky steps out of the hut, Harry mused that perhaps that was the story of their lives. They'd never truly be fully ready for anything, or fully certain about anything, but still, they were willing to try. As for the rest of it—well, at least for now, they had each other. Their bit of warmth in the snow. And the rest would follow, with time.  


**Author's Note:**

> Comment here or at [LiveJournal](http://slashedsilver.livejournal.com/26699.html)!


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